


Searching for a King

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:45:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Princes vanish from the Tower of London without trace. Each man has need to find them, each for different reasons. Their abductors play a deadly game in which they know, defeat means death on all accounts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Tower of London  
1483**

"Ned-" Richard Plantagenet, the little Duke of York laid in the huge bed. Or that's who he was supposed to be. Little Patrick Swindly was born a common boy with princely looks and now he was a prince, in character if no more. Really this boy was an actor and knew it. Yet they played the role quite perfectly.   
  
The real prince slept quietly as though this palace sized bed was of daily occurrence. The younger boy sighed pushing the older whispering a panicked "your grace must wake immediately."   
  
Even for a peasant, it was rare young Patrick grew fearful. Yet the tower scared the strongest of men. That was without the noise of a picking lock. Fits of terror soon took over. Forcing himself to protect his king he pushed the older boy from the bed making him hit the ground with a thud most violent just as the iron door opened. Darkness engulfed more darkness.   
  
"Richard what-" the young king was silenced by a hand, soft skin, smelling clean. His eyes widened as he was lifted, gentle but firm and half dragged from the room, cast into a woman's arms and quickly swept down the stairs, feet followed and at the bottom step darkness turned to silence as he fell into an unconscious state there in the woman's arms.   
  
Young Patrick watched in horror as the king flopped into the whores grasp. With speed the man grabbed the sleeping child, discarding young Patrick into the woamns arms. The King was carried over the mans shoulder as she took his own little hand.   
  
The mans voice was rough, course and faked. His accent had been rehearsed and was lacking in natural comfort. The mans clothes had been wool, with silk beneath, the wool of a working class merchant or London labourer yet his hands were soft, his skin clean. Why did it confuse him so? And this woman, a whore though she was clearly, she held herself with regal poise, with importance. Young Patrick said not a word as, ordered to follow, he scurried down the cobbles and into a litter, ducking beneath straw as the man charged the horses at a devils pace out of the tower gates.  
  
He cared not where they were going, so long as they were away from this keep.. He would meet his maker with a happy heart, so long as that be not in the tower walls. 

**  
****

****  
"They are gone, and you are sure?"  
  
"Quite sure your grace."   
  
Richard of Gloucester sat upon the throne of England by pretence, such he knew. He was no king as of yet, with the princes gone would he be king by right? Yet they were gone and not at his word. They had been taken in darkness by men with force enough to storm the tower, and cunning enough to do it quietly.   
  
"No one is in knowledge of the man?"  
  
"With regret we are not your grace."  
  
"How could you let this happen?" Anne Neville spoke for the first time. The woman was small, frail by all accounts but her voice.   
  
"My lady. We regret it most sorrowfully."  
  
"Of the boys, do they live?"  
  
"The king was carried my lady."   
  
"They were seen upon leaving?"  
  
"Aye"  
  
"And none thought to stop it?!" Richard bellowed the words, rare anger forcing him to strike out at the silver pitcher.  
  
"We tried your grace, the man rode like the devil."  
  
"The devil?" He turned, drip white and feverish. "I have heard only one man said to have that speed and it cannot be so."  
  
"I know not what to say your grace." Both men shared a look which confirmed, both men knew just of the man they both spoke of.   
  
"You say nothing until you find them. And my lord Stanley, you should pray you find them, alive."   
  
Richard of Gloucester sat upon the chair of estate with shaking hands. It could not be. So the crypt at Westminster had been opened but surely, poison, lead and marble would be enough to keep even the devil himself at bay. He crossed himself feeling nothing but the chilling cold paranoia as he fell forward onto the tiles clutching to all the reality he could maintain.

******

The fire burned too hot in the small room. The king noticed it instantly as he awoke with a smoke induced splutter. Wiping streaming eyes he lifted himself held gently by a woman he gasped to recognise. But how could it be? She had been paraded with lord Hastings as a whore, sentenced by his uncle of Gloucester. So many feelings filled his little heart, fury led his emotional march seconded by an emotion he seldom knew, fear. Richard Duke of Gloucester would see him dead, his Woodville kindred too. The man who could have stopped it lay lifeless at Westminster. How right William had been, all great men will fall from their seats. The dead fortune no one in their deeds. With death dies hope. How long it had taken to believe the tales, yet his father was dead and he would never truly be king.   
  
The woman brought his attention back to the room, nursing his sweat coated head, holding his shivering body. Silently he rested his head on her velvet dress, taking in her sweet scent. It only helped him realise how he missed his mother. Tears filled the young princes eyes, escaping as poor young Patrick raced to his side. How he missed Richard, oh where was Richard?   
  
He stopped his tears as the door once more opened. The man who had first grabbed him - or so he assumed. Blue eyes scaled over the man. He wore a hooded cloak, his manners absent for never was it removed. His face in darkness, the young king could only tell the mans height. A tall peasant, a kings mistress with a peasant. And they had kidnapped a prince, nay a king. Please god bring hell upon them. The boy sat quickly, his eyes bearing into the man, he cared little for his bare torso only for the mans almost caring smile. "You sir, this is treason! You willingly commit treason!"  
  
A shrug, the foul beast just shrugged. Young Edward sat astounded, embarrassed only as on his knees the man handed him a silk shirt. The young king thanked him, wishing only to bow to the man. A sudden impulse he pushed aside with determination. What was coming over him, truly he must be devoid of senses to want to bow to a strong eyed peasant.   
  
"Fetch me water. And wine, I wish ginger wine." If he were to tolerate conditions not to be offered to farm animals, he would make the most of it.  **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Two nights the towers defences had failed. They had chosen the second. The princes were gone when they arrived, none knew aught of what had happened to the boys, else none would tell. Margaret Beaufort prayed, upon her knees before the crucifix that they be found and taken to their lord, swift and painless. Richard of Gloucester was behind this she knew. The man who had scared a woman to sanctuary, her daughters also. He had killed half his court too. The old kings advisors lay with their master at Westminster.   
  
Even he could not have killed the boys; his own nephews for gain. It was the word of men, that Richard had been the boys death in person if not cause. Yet when few others shed tears for the old kings death, Richard was one who wept whilst Hastings and the woodvilles  sobbed. Margaret Beaufort was glad Edward was dead. The Yorkist usurper had died abed, coughing upon his own decisions and choking from extravagent luxuries. Now he would be sent for the eternal torment with his true father. For the Yorkist king sat not upon the right hand side of god, but the left of the devil.   
  
She crossed herself and rose, sitting at a writing desk she began at composing her thoughts.   
  
Dearest Jasper.  
  
The princes have gone, none doubt my lord of Gloucester to blame. He rambles, says my husband, of most putrid miracles. He has forced the crown of England upon his own head and not the prince it should have been. Now he is delusional with fear, which an open crypt ere at Westminster caused him. Sleepless nights did follow for now he fears his brother lives. With the princes gone...  
  
Yet we have another mad king in England to day, what of it are we to do? For the usurper claimed king Henry's madness as his right of inheritance. God seemed most agreeing with that, for it was sin and not battle which killed king Edward. The claim now lies to Henry, for Gloucester signed his own death warrant.   
  
You must return. Bring men.  
  
Margaret R

 

******

****  
Jane stroked her lovers hair as he lay silent next to her. Nothing made her smile as he did now. Laying naked before the fire, upon a rug and covered by a velvet cape, he was still king to her. More king than ever he had been. Growing thin from lack of food and wealth of illness, tear filled eyes once so vibrant, now losing their colour. It mattered little to her if she had her king as handsome as she found him, as gross as he left the world or a common, as he now claimed to be. He whimpered gently under her touch, eyes opening slowly as he looked at her. These days each smile was faked, he had indeed killed himself, or maybe he was dead before that point those months ago. Mayhap it was that bitch, Elizabeth Woodville had never loved her king as Jane had.. Never caring for his emotions, she cared for his power. It was she and not sweet Edward who signed George's death warrant, and with it she had as well signed Edwards. For he had never been the same.  
  
"Ed-"  
  
"Sh, don't speak my love."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I hear them sleep."  
  
"Nonsense." She giggled, kissing his cheek, her hand upon his chest.   
  
"I do."  
  
"Nothing will happen to them my love."   
  
"That boy, he is not my son."  
  
"Edward!"  
  
"He is not! Richard, where is my son?"  
  
"He be not the Duke of York?"  
  
"I know not what my wife has done, but that boy is not Richard." He rolled, letting her hand slip down his back with rippling tingles. Almost smiling he turned his head, resisting urges only for the boy who lay asleep above them. "It makes me fear, the tower, and a lack of a son. What has my brother of Gloucester turned to?"  
  
"He killed-"  
  
"Do not!" Sat suddenly, jane scurried away taking the cape with her as Edwards fist slammed onto wooden slats upon the floor. "Do not Jane. William was innocent of all 'cept honesty and love, Dickon is not the same, corrupted by greed. I'd mistake him for George."  
  
"Say not such foul things!"  
  
"Jane, sweet gentle Jane I beg you not to shout."  
  
"Richard, though his arrogance rises is not my lord of Clarence. For beneath George's chest lay what was indeed a good heart, not ice and stone." She spat the words with bitter hate.   
  
Edward chuckled reaching for satin hose pulling them on smiling. "I think, even now, you have my brothers much mistaken. Lord I miss Edmund. How I long for sense."  
  
"To bring up ancient pasts will not help you."  
  
"What do you propose will?" He stood using a dagger to cut away bread, eating slowly with little satisfaction, drinking cheap ale with a little more joy..   
  
"The princes safety must be secured."  
  
"As it is."  
  
"And you can fight an army alone? God forbid your brother should find them here."   
  
"Find us." Both adults jumped and turned as the child spoke. "My lord of Gloucester searches? He wished not you." The child gulped taking a seat. His moments wondering and days of naivety ended in one slap.  "My god, you stole my royal person from the tower, Jane you'll surely burn. As for you-" the child stopped looking over the man in open mouthed wonder. "It cannot, you're, my lord." The child rose quickly bowing, only to be caught in strong arms.   
  
"Edward you must not. You know nothing of this."  
  
"Why did you take me from the tower if you claim not to be my father."  
  
"Because your uncle will surely kill me."  
  
"You are king."  
  
"Alas, that is not so."   
  
"But papa."  
  
"Your grace." Father sat his son upon the chair, kneeling and taking the boys hand kissing it. "May The Lord long preserve you."   
  
"I wont." No one moved as the child burst into tears, throwing himself at his father, resting his head upon his chest. "I won't be king whilst you suffer." 


	3. Chapter 3

Richard Plantagenet, King of England walked through The Tower. Every thought passed his mind since the boys had vanished. Were they dead? Though who could have done it? Elizabeth Woodville, despite her flaws, despire her need to incriminate him on every level would not be so small, so petty, so utterly heartless as to kill her own children. No, that was beyond even her. Margaret Beaufort and Henry Tudor, the obvious suspects of course, and the princes would have every reason to be the centre of their rage, as much as him. Then the question had arose, why would they tae their fury out on two innocent boys and not him, the Yorkist king they so hated? No, to plant the blame upon him was not enough, not even when he had made the most unpopular move to send the all-loved William Hastings to his death. No one in their right minds would believe he had killed his own nephews. So then they had vanished.... How could two boys just vanish? 

  
It had been that extraordinary fact which had made him believe in the impossible. The Tower had not been so much as seiged in a century, when King Richard, the second of that name had lost control of the peasantry and ended the life of Arch Bishop Sudley with his pathetic rule, the reason this disaster of the past century had happened. The reason King Henry the fifth and his mad son had taken the throne to begin with. The reason why his father, the Duke of York had needed to lose his head with Rutland and the reason Edward, dearest Edward had slein thousands, simply to gain profit from the bloodshed. Who would have the power to not only seige The Tower but once again burst the battlements and enter the bailey, to enter The Tower and crack a cell to release two otherwise helpless young boys, and to make him look like a frankly terrible King. Not only who could; but who would have the motivation to do so? Again, he had eliminated the Woodvilles, Sir Anthony would have been the only name to come to mind, yet he was safely dead and buried along with his treasonous friend Lord Hastings.   
  
Yet someone close to those boys had removed them, and removed them evidently unharmed. Someone they had trusted, for the men had mentioned no protesting from the young princes. Edward had been carried, but the boy had not fought when he had walked. If Richard knew anything about his pious, proud little nephew, he knew that Edward, the old Prince of Wales, the deposed king of England and his brother, Richard Duke of York would happily, merrily have called their protest in shouting their most noble titltes, and by god they would have been heard. No man in England was able to silently take those boys from their safehold, even he himself had foudn difficulty in taking the boys from their uncle Anthony. NO gag was strong enough, nor chains strong enough. A name came to mind, yet he could not believe it plausable, less so possible.

  
The court had put the opening of his brothers grave down to grave robbers, which had caused fury in the loyal Yorkist court. Only Lord Hastings had remained silent on the matter. Edward's own chamberlain had remained silent on the matter of Edward's grave having been opened. Richard himself had never belived it could have been grave robbers, at Windsor, it would have been impossible. Yet until now, he had simply thought Hastings had been behind the graves opening, now he was certain. Yet the reason before he had not known, now he had to admit, though it was impossible, for once it could not be improbable. It had to be so, Edward was not dead.   
  
The thought had come so suddenly it had made him laugh, gaining the attention of Anne Neville as she stood next to him. Quickly he smiled, taking he hand in hiw own, reluctant to share his worries with her. Not for the normal reason, the one thing Richard conceded was similar among his Yorkist brothers had been their respect of women, and their independence. Even Edward, a man who had taken it as his right to take a woman simply for her sex and looks had found his respect for women - especially their opinions. Yet impossible it would have been to have thought anything but the strong minded will of women, when your mother was the dowager duchess of York, Cecily Neville herself. The woman was stoic, a lagend among them all, a goddess and a saint and not one man would dare to take it in their stride to argue with the woman. Not even their father had argued with her - or so Richard remembered it to be. The only person to have come close to arguing with the woman Richard called his lady mother had been the strongest and braveest man even now he had eveer known. And Edward had been crushed, splattered and thrown to the floor for it. He had entered the argument the Golden boy of York, the king of England with Gods blessing in his hand and he had left the broken shadow of a man. No Richard did not think Anne incapable of taking on a mans worries, quite the contrary. Richard simply thought himself so lost of sense that he could not share the most impossible conclusion he had drawn in his thirty years. 

  
With a kiss planted on his ladies hand, Richard turned and left, taking the stairs two at a time. Moving too quickly for Anne to follow. He shouted to the stable boy "My horse, damn you ready my horse!" It was minutes before he was on the geldings back and charging through the streets of London, dank and stinking to the tiny crowded streest of East Chepe, racing the beast down cobbles, men at his back torches blazing and swords a ready. He stopped outside the small house, a now familiar little place, the safe house for the Woodville-Hastings campaign, a hosue he had not so much thought of visiting since the day of Hastings death. He held a hand up to the men at arms who stood loyal behind him. Knocking on the door, waiting for the young woman to answer before pushing the door to its full, stopping as he looked around the smoke filled room. For a moment there was nothing, only him and Jane Shore alive to the world, dark eyes followed every inch of the room, about to thank the lady for her time when the movement caught his attention, a sutle move and a shining blade. He had seen the sort on only one man alone. "Brother, I would suggest you drop your blade for it be treason to hold it upon me."  
  
"Treason, I left my throne to my son dear brother, not to you."  
  
"Edward let me explain."  
  
"You betrayed me, worse than George dear Richard for you waitied until none could object, when I swore upon what you thought my deathbed to make you my sons protector, and back you swore to protect him through good and bad and make him king you coupe him th towe and call him illegitimate."  
  
"Edward-"  
  
"Do not." He stepped forward, about to shout, reach out and touch the boy as he ran forward, charging toward his uncle as though he were a mad man. None could stop the disaster before it struck, all reached out to catch the boy, all failing as Richard seized the boys shoulder. "Richard, for the love of god release him, I beg you."   
  
For the first time Richard saw tears form in his brothers eyes, heard the break in his voice and gulped. he almost enjoyed it, for once being the one in power of these two great brothers. The one who could weild the axe without a need. He pulled the dagger from the young princes belt, holding it to his throat. The boy whimpered under his touch, Edward gulped, trying to step forward retreating quickly. "The boy is coming with me Edward, and theres nothing you could do about it. He comes or you die."  
  
"Richard. See sense, what is this?"  
  
"Law my dear brother. Law." No one said another word as Richard guided the boy from the house lifting him onto the horse, taking the reins. it was a moment before with silent approach the Duke of Buckingham dropped from his horse, placing the tip of his sword at the soft of Richard's back.  
  
"Thank you your grace, we are most thankful." The duke seixed the princes reins, taking the child from the horse in one swoop. The boy hit the ground with a thud. Richard shouted for Edward, watching as his brother stoof in the doorway, eyes fixed on the whimpering child.   
  
"Edward! Run!" Richard gulped the words as he ran to his nephews side, looking to his brother with pleading eyes as Buckingham approached, seeing the young duke hit the floor as Edward took him down, setting to a run. He was no fool, all knew it was hopeless to try and save the child. Buckingham returned to the child, knowing it pointless to chase the Yorkist adult. Walking quickly, he rose the sword, taking it without issue into the young princes chest. Richard took a moment as the duke retreated. The king of england was left to cry as the young prince, his own nephew, lay dying in his arms. It was a moment before Edward returned, taking the child in sobs of paternal agony. "I promise Ned, I'll avenge this, if it is the last thing I do." 


	4. Chapter 4

Jane rose as the door opened, not hesitating to fall by her lovers side as he slid to the floor with audible sobs. She wiped his face with the sleeve of her dress, gentle slaps on his cheek trying to gain attention from him. “Edward…. Edward?” She gulped at his lack of response. Raising quickly she fetched a candle, seeing blood upon his shirt, his hands, saw the tears leave colourless eyes. “Edward, my god what have they-“  
  
“My son… They…” He choked the words, falling completely. No control of his body as he fell sideways, caught only by her as she pulled him close to her, stroking his hair gently.   
  
“What did they do? Edward, who?”  
  
“Buckingham.” He coughed, reaching his eyes in a pathetic attempt to wipe endless tears.  “My son, he killed my son.”

“Edward, how could he? Why would he?” She looked in confusion. Unable to stop herself stepping away, leaving him to fight for control enough to sit. She paced, ran a hand through perfect blond hair. “You’re sure it was Buckingham? On his own orders?”  
  
“On who else’s orders?! Do you think me blind and foolish woman! It was Buckingham!” He threw the stool by his hand, watching as the wood splintered on the floor. “By God, it was only for lacking in sword I did not run him through.”   
  
“Jesu Edward, do not jest.”  
  
“I do not jest!”  
  
“If it is my lord of Buckingham we are all in danger, for as much as Hastings he does work with Elizabeth.”  
  
“Lisbet? Her own son?” He stood quickly, using the wall for support, shaking his head as the tears quickly retreated. “This is madness, even for her.”   
  
“Its why you must be sure.”  
  
“Jane!” He cleared the space between them, taking her in his arms holding her firmly in his grasp, taking only a second before kissing her. They stood apart as the door burst open, men in armour grasping them both. “Jane!” He reached, punching the man taking hold of his arm, fighting against the second one, barely stilled by the blade as his throat as she screamed.  
  
“Edward! Help!” There was a moments pause as the man central to them all stopped his walk, turning his gaze from Jane to Edward.  
  
“Edward… Edward.” He muttered as though the name was one alien to him. “Edward, that surely is impossible.” He stepped closer, lifting the visor of his helmet looking at the man before him, struggling under the grasp of two men. “How can it be?” The man reached out and touched Edward’s cheek, as though to check the man before him was indeed of flesh not air. “delightful.”    
  
“Buckingham! Hurt her and I will kill you!”  
  
“Ah yes, you and what army?”  
  
“Buckingham!”  
  
“Now now dear brother you must not fret.”  He tutted as Edward made a rash attempt to escape, kicking one of the men only to hit the ground with tooth breaking force. Spitting blood he glared in anger. “I’d suggest you not to fight my lord, if I am still to call you that, for surely you have no titles now, being dead and all. Not so easy when afflicted upon yourself, yet the Beauchamp woman you happily declared dead to law.”  
  
“That’s in the past!” Jane shouted, crying out as her captor held her tighter, squeezing her belly with force enough to cause her panic. “Sir I am with child!”  
  
“Congratulations on another bastard your grace.” The Duke’s tone was rich with sarcasm. “Should he replace your son, the bastard prince and right merry I’d  be. My regret is only that I could not find the other, the kings regret also.”  
  
“Richard did not-“  
  
“Oh you wish to believe it, if only you saw the evidence.” Buckingham smiled, clicking his tongue. “Right wroth you’d be.” He thought for a moment turning his attention to Jane and back. “Perhaps you’d kill him like George.”   
  
That was enough to see Edward free, a strong fist connecting with Buckingham’s jaw. The younger of the men hit the ground, his armour denting into his back. Agony soared. He gulped hard as his own dagger reached his throat, the helmet stripped from his head. “I am a servant to his majesty King Richard, to kill me is treason.”

“My brother is not king!”  
  
Buckingham chuckled, speaking softly. “He is now I believe, with his rightful majesty dead and young York nowhere to be seen.” Edward pulled back, slipping into defeat as the men once again grabbed him. He watched as Buckingham got to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “For that show of violence, I shall show no mercy.” All eyes were upon him as he fell silent. “Take her outside, she will burn as a whore and witch. Should he object he shall watch, should he fight, it shall be his own fate.” With that, Buckingham left.

 

 

 

Elizabeth Woodville sat alone, newly under house arrest at Grafton Regis, her childhood home. The children were at court, serving under the usurper of the throne. The man responsible for her sons death, so she had heard from Buckingham. The man was now heading north from London and straight to see her. She did not move as she heard the horses, sending a maid to greet them. Under all appearances she would appear a queen. She smiled and sipped wine as the duke entered, bowing with such enthusiasm she could not help but smile. She stood, held out her hand to let him kiss her fingers, which he did and smiled, knelt at the foot of her golden dress. “My lord, how pleasant, bring you news more optimistic than last I heard?”  
  
“I bring news of strange tidings madam.” He stood and clapped his hands, turning to the door and nodded to the man. The doors opened once more. Elizabeth sat as men marched in, each holding  chain as though walking an untamed beast, stopped letting them fall to the ground. Each stepped aside. It took a moment, bu the glass fell from Elizabeth’s hand at the sight before her. “We found him, in London. With her.”  
  
“Buckingham, what is this?”  
  
“I wasn’t sure it was true either.”  
  
“Edward, my love.” She stood, falling back only as he looked up with unfamiliar eyes.. “Give us some time my lord Buckingham.”   
  
“Of course your grace.” He bowed once more and turned, leaving with her husband gaolers at tail.

“Come here.” She commanded in a cold tone, not flinching at his struggle as she heard the clinking of chains. He knelt before her wincing as she rested a hand lightly on a cheek rough with facial hair. She did not think to control her actions as with force she slapped him, sending his head lolling to the side. He made no reaction, no word, no sound, not even a movement. It hurt, it was as though she was not there, as though he knelt alone in the great hall. “You whoreson, you bastard!” This time as she went to slap him his hand blocked, she impacted on iron links cursing at the pain.   
  
“You do not hit me.” He muttered the words in a cold tone. Looking up momentarily, their eyes met. “It is not your right.”  
  
“I am your wife-!  
  
“My _wife,_ as my _wife_ you are to obey me.”  
  
“I shall not obey a coward, if not for you I would still be queen!”  
  
“If not for me, you would never have been queen and do not forget it, although it seems you will not, for you wished me your husband only to be queen. Now I am immune to your spells and curses.”  
  
“You call me a witch and a harlot?”  
  
“You take from it what you please, you always did.”   
  
“Edward. My darling, I do not wish to argue.”  
  
“Then should it please you to hear what I have to say?” She said nothing, only gave him a high nosed glance and nodded. “Our son was killed in London two dawns past.”  
  
“By the usurper king-“  
  
“By Buckingham, on Richard’s order.”  
  
“Impossible, Buckingham has our sons interest as his own, he serves the Woodvilles and not your brother.”  
  
“I saw it with my own eyes Lisbet. I wish to believe it no more than you, but Buckingham himself said Richard was behind it, that he served his king loyal and true.”  
  
“He betrays one of us?”  
  
“Or both of you.”  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“He killed my son and burnt Jane.”  
  
“he killed your whore?”  
  
“Elizabeth, please-“  
  
“I cannot say I will lose sleep for her. Nor you.”


	5. Chapter 5

1485  
  
Henry Tudor wasted no time, entering the hall without pause as his uncle summoned him. He scanned the great room, eyes fixing on his uncle, dark eyes filled deep with hate looking over the man who kneeled before him. Neither man spoke, nor looked to Henry as he approached, silently taking in the sight before him. The man upon the floor looked tired, aging and dressed in clothes which were torn, though clothes which were once those of a nobleman. He could not help but wonder, in their few days return from France and Brittany, in the mere hours they had to prepare before the usurper King Richard bore down upon them, whatever was his uncle doing dallying away their time with a common peasant of little value and less importance? However had his uncle become united with the serf creature anyway? Henry jumped as his uncle spoke, a voice rough, course with anger he tried desperately to restrain. "Your Grace, if it pleases you to come forward, to meet our guest." It was now Henry noticed a sight which before he had not. Sat silently, deathly pale in the corner of the room sat his mother, the woman's hands shook, her mouth opened and closed miming words he could not decipher.   
  
"Uncle who be this man, and why do we-" he said no more as his uncle forced the mans head up, so dark Tudor eyes met the light eyes of a true Plantagenet. Henry stumbled, his hand finding the table to gain his balance. "It cannot be, he is dead two years since." Henry looked to his mother, she had not moved, had barely breathed since he had walked into the room.   
  
"So we all thought." Jasper sent Edward's head down, adding a punch. The old king spluttered, coughing and spitting teeth slick with blooded saliva, cold eyes running over Jasper Tudor with a hate returned to him.   
  
"Do not hit him uncle! He is an anointed king!" Henry stepped forward, pushing back the uncle all his life he had so respected. Kneeling he lifted Edward's head checking the gap where the teeth had been. "Uncle are you ignorant to the fate which occurs to those who harm the body of God's most important servant? Who willingly place harm upon England's anointed king? God help, for you will make him wrath!"  
  
"Then the man who you do tend to, fairs no better than your uncle Jasper Henry, for he did kill his own king, knowingly so and led his prince and queen to their graves. All in the name of justice, it was needless slaughter and he deserves none of the mercy he begs from you." Margaret spoke for the first time, in a voice thick with guilt and pain. She could not look to the man who once she had served, who once she had been forced to accept as her king, her ruler. The shivering mass of pity upon the floor. She shuddered under the gaze of her son, a gaze which spoke his disapproval.   
  
"Lady mother he does not beg! Does not say a word!" Henry stopped, falling silent as cold hands touched his. He heard the almost silent blessing in regal Latin. Felt the old kings lips touch his own hand, and the words he had far from expected to hear leave his mouth.  
  
"Henry, my King. I come and do beseech you. Oh merciful lord of holy ordinance. I pledge to thee my absolute loyalty, to serve you and die for you, to shed my blood in place of your own. Grant me speak freely?" Henry said nothing, only placed his hands over Edwards, offering a stunned nod. "My brother Richard, the usurping king has taken his power not for good, nor justice but for cruel and cold control. His grace, my son, King Edward, God protect his soul, was dispatched from this earth at the hand of he was sword to protect him. Richard, Duke of York, also. It is sin, my lord, we cannot forgive. For he shames the House of York and all its standing. To you I offer my support, and with me come a hundred men to the battle about to ensue, for God knows my lord you shall be in need of them."   
  
"A thousand from the Yorkist brat and we may accept-" Jasper broke off as Margaret raised her hand, standing and approaching she stood before her oldest enemy. Offering her hand to raise him to his feet indicating a chair, pouring wine she waited, watching as he drank with a thirst unquenched for days.   
  
"Tell me Edward, how many men does King Richard have?"  
  
"Around ten thousand."  
  
"And he is aware of your existence?"  
  
"He believes I will fight for him, to keep York on the throne."  
  
"Why will you not?"  
  
"For either way madam, I am to live in obscurity, which i would rather do under Lancaster's rule."   
  
"Obscurity?" Jasper slammed a fist onto the table. "I'd have you drawn and quartered for all you did to us! At the least I'd see you exiled!"  
  
"Silence!!" Henry turned to his uncle. "Let lady mother speak." 

"He killed his kin, I do not deny, if you yourself do not. Men are needed, sorely so and every hand does count. A hundred men may be substantial, if also you could his lord, my husband Stanley to reconcile with the true royal blood."   
  
"I hold no influence, no place at court no-"  
  
"But you hold your name, your image, as fine as ever it was if only for a change of attire. It has been long since you have fought, sure you are you can still hold a sword?"  
  
"And swing an axe as ever I could. I would be a fresh to the field as that fateful day at Towton."  
  
"Then indeed, if once again you could slay a thousand with a red rose upon your breast then surely we would be happy to take you. The decision is my sons however."  
  
"Have him fed." Henry spoke with authority. "Bread, cheese and meat of fine quality, wine and clothes to be fetched also. And uncle, I need not tell you, be loathe to touch him for should he die I shall lay it upon your head, which by my rule you shall forfeit. He shall sleep close by. My lord, enjoy your stay and make reconcile with my lord Stanley." 


	6. Chapter 6

"Run Richard!" He fled, shedding armour in his escape. Scurrying, let run by a man all knew, all trusted. The battlefield was stained with blood and the king lay dead upon the floor. They removed the helmet, a blood stained face recovered and all confirmed it was he. 

She tossed and turned in fitful sleep. For years it had plagued her nights and tinted her days.  
In wake she knew with fear too deep to mumble the words, that man dead upon the floor was not her uncle, was not Richard.

Another man was dragged from the woods, blood covered armour and thrown to his knees. Jasper Tudor raised his sword, stopped by the man who had fled the battlefield long before the true fighting a start. "Uncle no." No one spoke, the welsh man showed reluctance but lowered the blade, dragging his prisoner to his feet. "Run, for all you help I wish not to see your face again."

 

She started awake. It was at that point she always did. Now several hours on, queen Elizabeth sat upon her throne and thought in silence. She and Henry never spoke of Bosworth, of what happened to Richard. Yet all she could assume was that he knew the man beneath the armour, that he had spared England's king and Richard roamed free. Made merry in France or Burgundy. 

She looked up as the doors opened, men in armour approached. "Your Majesty, prey since your husband is away, we must bring such matters to your attention."

"What is it?" 

"We found a man wandering the grounds. Tis treason-"

"Bring him before me. If you must, else lock him in the tower if you-" her words stopped at the familiar shouts. Childhood memories soothed her momentarily before guards, each struggling dragged the man now held in chains. She looked at him, head bowed as they pulled the ring at his neck, she heard the crackle of half choked breaths, his wrists pulled taut behind him and ankles bound tight as he knelt. "He knew my name and used it personally, may I approach?"

"If it pleases her majesty."

She did not need a second time, approaching quickly she lifted the mans head, stumbling backwards tears takin to her eyes in an instant. "Pa-" she whispered the word, it's remainder inaudible by the sudden sobs. She took a moment, gaining her voice. "remove the chains and leave us." She heard the clinks, looked back to see the men still stood. "I said leave!" She approached quickly as the men left, raising her hand bringing it hard across her fathers cheek. "You coward, you whore son you..." She broke off into tears falling to her knees hugging him. "I thought you were dead. We all thought... You gave up your crown, you gave up mother and for what?" 

"My daughter to be queen. You always said you would be." 

"But you came back.." She paused remembering her dream with now shaking hands. "You fool, Henry cannot-" she was silenced by his finger, placed gently on her lips. 

"Sweet Elizabeth worry not."

"Lady mother she-"

"She died in my arms, as was her wish."

"She knew, and kept silent from me."

"I would have lost my head for treason."

"It was you, at Bosworth” He said nothing, had no need to. She nodded stepping away, her fingers touching her lips. Tapping lightly. “Is my uncle alive?”

“I know nothing of how Dickon fairs. But what I did Bess, it was right. It needed to be done, Richard did not deserve to be king, but he did not deserve to die either.” He tried to step forward, stopped as she spun, her mothers eyes baring into him bringing memories to painful to bare. “Bess, you cannot-”

“What you did, right or wrong, is unforgivable You betrayed my husband and you committed treason.” She turned on him suddenly, the strength of a king filling her veins. He gulped, saw within her the Yorkist strength, the Plantagenet vanity He gulped and said nothing, bowing his head. “You cannot be forgiven for this, my father or not. Gaurds!” The men appeared chains in their hands once more, they said nothing. “Seize him, he is to go to the Tower. My husband shall decide his fate when he returns.”

“Bess!” 

“Silence!” She stamped her foot as she stared at him. “Take him, without a seconds pause!” With those words she left. 

 

The Tower of London, 6 months later

Elizabeth of York stood behind the curtains, looking at the sight before her. Her father sat silent, eyes fixed upon the man who entered silently, sitting upon the bed. “Your Grace, mayhap I should call you father?”

“Please, Henry I do not aspire to be king, only to see my daughter happy. To see he be queen.” 

Henry smiled, nodded. Pulled the knife from hid belt twisting it in his hand. “See, as much as I would like for that my lord I cannot. See, already there are mumblings, potential little uprisings. You thought I would not seek out your brother? That I would not kill him to save my throne, then sir you are a fool.” He lifted the blade, holding it against his throat, pressing hard. Edward gulped, eyes closing, he bit his lip to hold back a whimper; to prevent the Tudor king his simple. Sweet satisfaction. “I am sorry.” With those words, Henry slipped the knife into the old kings ribs. Elizabeth screamed, Henry jumped back. “Wife!”

“Move! You hellspawn! Papa!” She jumped onto the matress, using her skirts to soak blood. “Papa, no.” She heard the wheezing, saw her fathers tears as the last breaths left his lungs. Sobs took over her body, shaking it. She threw off Henry's arm. “Do not! You are dead to me husband. Dead. I will take the Princes and we shall go to Windsor, my home, my inheritance and you, Henry Tudor will never see me again.” 

“I love you, Bess please, you will break my heart, you will kill me!”

“Then your majesty, you will know how I feel.” with her words she laid beside her father, hugging his lifeless body as she cried for the pain this loss had brought her.


End file.
